


Her Nephew’s Offenses

by orange_8_hands



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Study, Family, Gen, POV First Person, Wordcount: 500-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-28 15:37:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/309402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orange_8_hands/pseuds/orange_8_hands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Petunia is honest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her Nephew’s Offenses

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on [my LJ](http://orange-8-hands.livejournal.com/1349.html), July 2011.

I do not hate the boy. 

He is, of course, too much like her, too much like _them_ , the greasy neighbor who followed us around as children and the friends who would come over in summer, and then later she brought _him_ home and told us she was to be married, as if we would be pleased, and worse was that my parents were. 

They could never see what was wrong with her, never. Good riddance. 

But I do not hate the boy. 

He is not as good as Dudley. No one is. I’m not sure how I got such a perfect little son, such a sweet, wonderful boy, but I did. He’s normal, thank goodness, that would have been enough, but he’s so much more. He has friends and laughs a lot and is so interested in so many things, he can barely keep his focus on one toy before he’s asking for the next. He is correctly inquisitive, unlike the boy, who always wants information he can’t have, why can’t he just leave it alone. 

But I do not hate the boy. 

I admit it’s not pleasant to have him around. Oh, he does chores sometimes, but I have to repeat instructions to him all the time. He’s not slow, he’s been tested, but sometimes I wonder if maybe the blood is coming in a little too through. And then it turned out he had… _that_ , just like her, just like his mother, but I still gave him a home, just like what was asked I gave him a home and made him meals and treated him like a second son, even if he was so unpleasant to be around. It was a relief, I admit, when he left, even if it was to a school for _that_. 

But I do not hate the boy.  

Vernon thinks I’m too soft on him. His parents were a waste, died in a drug deal gone bad – well, maybe not, but they died because of criminal elements and really, they should have just stayed out of it – and Vernon worries blood tells. Turns out he was right, no matter how much he tried to raise that boy right. There are only so many things Vernon can do, so many times he can try, and I really don’t blame him for giving up. Any time we can just keep the boy in his room to leave the rest of us alone is a more peaceful day to be had by all. We only locked him in his room for his own good, until finally he came back for the summer and did it himself. (At least until he brought those nasty demeanors down on my sweet Dudley. He didn’t leave soon enough, that summer. Better than when he brought others, others like him, visiting, but still a trying summer.) 

But I do not hate the boy. 

Of course we are forced to flee because of him.  Just like his parents, getting tangled up in something nothing to do with him. And then he’s surprised when they come after us; he puts us in danger, just like his parents did, without any care about what it means for us. Vernon is still so red, but Dudley – oh, my Dudley – was so brave, so sweet, thanking that boy despite it being his entire fault. My darling has grown into such a fine young man. 

“You should be proud of the Boy Who Lived,” says one of _them_ , the driver, as I watch our whole lives disappear as they take us somewhere else. “He’s going to stop He Who Must Not Be Named.”

I don’t bother answering, though Vernon tries. There’s no speaking sense into these people. You can tell by the robes they wear. They really don’t understand who the boy is and all the trouble he has caused. They always want us to fawn all over him, like they do, like that’s a proper way to raise such a troublemaking boy. Like he isn’t the reason they are driving us somewhere away from the life I have created for almost twenty years. 

But I do not hate the boy. 

I just know life would have been much more pleasant if he had died that night too. 

**Author's Note:**

> I only realized I gave the wrong fake story (they died in a car accident, not a drug deal) after I wrote this, but I like that section so I left it in.


End file.
